


Enter Serpent

by apliddell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is romantic but also the tiniest bit of a bastard, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Praise Kink, Romantic Fluff, crowley's big sleep, the gay epiphany, touch-starved aziraphale, touch-starved crowley, unbearably romantic romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Difficult to resist the urge to compare notes.





	Enter Serpent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Candle_For_Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Candle_For_Sherlock/gifts).



> Obviously it's for Moony. I did say it was unbearably romantic.

“You learnt to what at a what?!” hooted Crowley, wiping away the wine that had come out of his nose. They were crowded round a little cafe table that Aziraphale had miracled into the back of the bookshop. Crowley had brought round a fluffy dessert, and Aziraphale opened a bottle of wine. Crowley had subsequently opened another bottle of wine when the first one had disappeared sooner than expected. 

 

“I know you heard me,” said Aziraphale a little stiffly, though even so he was considerate enough to miracle away the wine still burning Crowley’s nasal passages. “I’m not telling you the things you missed if you’re only going to laugh about them.”

 

"I should've known you'd have the words 'discreet gentleman's club' rattling about in your lexicon." Crowley pressed his knee to Aziraphale’s knee under the table in apology, “Will you teach me how to gavotte, Angel?”

 

“No,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley supposed he deserved it. 

 

“What else did you do while I was asleep? Go on then, Angel. I won’t laugh.” 

 

Aziraphale chased the last of his pavlova with his spoon. “I fell in love,” he said dreamily. 

 

Crowley felt strongly that he did not deserve that. He fought and mastered the urge to leave the table on his belly. After several seconds of shocked silence, he managed a reply that sounded something like, “Khrrrrnggh?”

 

“Oh yes,” said Aziraphale, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. “I was painting at the time, and I met the loveliest young man. Exquisitely beautiful. Innocent. Sweet. He agreed to sit for a portrait, and when I painted him I felt as though I were on the verge of my creative zenith.” Aziraphale sighed mournfully, “Tragically I introduced him to-”

 

“Hang on,” Crowley interrupted. “That’s Dorian Gray. You’re doing  _ The Picture of Dorian Gray _ .” A spike of giddy relief shot through him when Aziraphale laughed. 

 

“Truly I wasn’t up to much, dear,” Aziraphale shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint. I had a nice suit made. I was gavotting. I missed you. I  _ worried _ about you.”

 

“It was only a nap,” said Crowley weakly. 

 

“I didn’t know that. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. I didn’t know anything.” 

 

Crowley supposed it was too late for his absence not to have been some sort of mortifying or other, “I’m sorry.”

 

Aziraphale shook his head, “You were trying to cope. I suppose I’d already left you alone in another kind of way.” 

 

Crowley miracled himself a refill, “You’re always so bloody understanding.” 

 

“Statistically speaking, I’m extraordinarily stupid. If we’re measuring out my moments of insight over the last six thousand years. I still don’t truly. Understand. In honesty. Still one speaks one’s aspirations aloud.”

 

“Like a prayer,” said Crowley without having meant to say much of anything. He hummed a few bars of the Madonna song to see if it would it make him feel better. 

 

Aziraphale did not recognise the reference and continued earnestly, “Exactly! You’re much more patient with me than I’ve been with you, I think. It’s humbling. I want so much to give you. Compassion. Acceptance.”

 

Crowley gulped his wine, “How angelic.”

 

“No,” Aziraphale shook his head emphatically. “You see it isn’t, not at all!”

 

“It isn’t?” 

 

“Not at all! Because I don’t want to treat you with the compassion and acceptance that Principality Aziraphale, angel of the East Gate meets each of the Almighty’s creations with.”

 

“Oh,” said Crowley, hoping it was in a tone that invited more. 

 

“I began to develop some language while you were asleep,” Aziraphale went on presently. “Spending time with all those humans. They’re terribly good at putting names to feelings, don’t you think? There’s something satisfying about knowing what to call things. Productive in some cases.”

 

“They do reliably try and catalog things,” agreed Crowley. “So you’re gavotting with humans. You’re collecting dictionaries. You’re bored.” 

 

“Enter serpent,” Aziraphale smiled intolerably fondly. “You came to rescue me, though how you knew I needed it, I can’t imagine.” 

 

“I just. Thought you might be peckish. I owed you lunch.”

 

Aziraphale laughed, “Fine, keep your secrets. Anyway, you handed me my satchel of books in the bones of that burnt-out church and I thought quite distinctly, oh  _ fuck _ I’m queer!”  He paused, frowning, “Are you all right, dear?” 

 

Crowley was clutching his head as if against a sudden headache, “Sorry, that was a lot of information all at once.” He took off his shades and pocketed them, “Have you just said fuck?” 

 

“ _That’s_ the bit you-”

 

“That’s when you knew?!” screeched Crowley. “”Seventy years ago? Seventy measly years ago?!”

 

“Well when did you know?” asked Aziraphale, sounding rather wounded. 

 

Crowley tried to think if he even remembered learning it, “Do you remember. Erm. You told me you’d given away your flaming sword? And it began to rain, and you raised up your wing and shielded me from the rain? I didn’t have the word queer or any of that nice human language, but. That tenderness! It was sort of. Grand and minute simultaneously. I knew I. I wanted erm. What we’ve got now.” 

 

“Oh  _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale miracled away the table, leaned into the space between them, and pulled Crowley to him. “That is a very long time to be alone.”

 

“I wasn’t alone.” Crowley paused til Aziraphale had kissed him, “I had you.” 

 

“You ought to’ve had more of me,” Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer and cradled Crowley’s head against his shoulder, stroking his hair. 

 

Crowley surreptitiously grew his hair til it tumbled down his back, hoping Aziraphale would toy with his ringlets, “I had what you could spare.”

 

Aziraphale silently urged Crowley into his lap, and Crowley delivered himself with pleasure, “Hang on, is there more of this?” Aziraphale had wrapped the extra bit of Crowley’s hair round his own fist, “Is this a temptation?” 

 

It felt so lovely that Crowley could only, “Hrrrm,” affirmatively into Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

 

Aziraphale laughed and gave his fistful a little tug, “You can ask for the things you want, you know. In fact I quite enjoy it.” 

 

“I thought I. I move too fast for you,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s shoulder, still too blissed out by the activity in his hair for even that recollection to carry much sting. 

 

“Oh  _ Crowley _ ,” said Aziraphale, his voice even more tender than his hand in Crowley’s hair. “Oh my dear. This is what I mean when I say you’ve been patient with me.” 

 

“Maybe,” Crowley murmured presently, “--rub my back? Ooooh  _ yes _ , that’s the stuff yum--maybe we both did our best and neither of us owe the other an apology.” 

 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead, because it was easiest in reach. Still felt like a beatitude, “So wise. So kind and good.” 

 

Crowley clung to Aziraphale’s jacket and nestled against his shoulder, “This feels too good, Angel. Can't possibly be allowed. Does it kill you?”

 

There was a smile in Aziraphale’s voice when he answered, “I don’t believe so, but I’ve never indulged before.”

 

“Ah?” said Crowley. “Then you’re a natural.” 


End file.
